APH Gorey Demise
by GothicTobifan
Summary: Taken from Song Gorey Demise "If he knew this was going to be it he would have kissed England senseless, called off the pool party, better yet – never installed the pool." First one is A, can you guess who that is?
1. A is For

**So this isn't going to help with the whole 'I don't like my Username, I'm not like that anymore', but I was inspired. Anyways ignore my username, remember me as Florida. And everything won't implode...yet.**

**England: Why the bloody hell are we here for!**

**America: For my Pool Party duh!**

**Florida: uhm, gomen...lo siento. **

**England: what's wrong?**

**America: -confused- What did you say?**

**England: she said sorry.**

**America: -more confused- For what? **

**Florida: Eto, for this story. I really love you Dad I was just inspired! I would never hope this would happen to you or Pops!**

**America: -reads story- ! WHAT!**

**Florida: -covers mouth- Don't spoil it! I don't on any of the Hetalia characters or the song called Gorey Demise!**

**England: This doesn't sound fun.**

**America: Florida you are groun-**

**

* * *

**

**A is for America…**

**

* * *

**

Today was going to be perfect!

America had everything ready, he had the burgers grilled, the pool cleaned, he even wore decent clothing, this pool party was going to be the best ever!

**Ding Dong**

And that would be his first guest.

"I'm coming!" Shouted Alfred, he jumped through the patio doors and straight to the front door, slamming it open and staring down at his guest, England.

"Welcome Iggy~!" America wrapped his arm around Iggy's shoulders leading him inside. It wasn't a surprise that the Brit would be the first guest, he always made sure to arrive early or right on time to any meeting (except America's birthday parties…).

"My names not Iggy, its England," he said, shrugging America's arm off him. He could still feel the heat lingering there, Arthur blushed a little.

"Burgers are out back, did you bring your bathing suit?" Alfred was already leading Arthur out through the kitchen towards the backyard; he couldn't wait to show off his cool, new pool.

"Lovely," Arthur rolled his eyes before scoffing, "of course I brought it, it _is_ a pool party, is it not?"

"Wasn't sure, you're a bit of a prude yanoo." America started to laugh, shoulders shaking slightly causing the small apron (reading Kiss the Cook) to bounce up revealing his American swim trunks. 'If America was going to play that way,' England thought as he noticed how close Alfred was to the edge of the pool, 'then I can play dirty as well.' And with that thought England strode up to America, who was still laughing, and pushed -with all his anger- him into the pool.

America landed with a loud splash, England's face swirled up by the water, before pain erupted from the backside of his head. It grew within seconds making him gasp for air and making him terribly dizzy. He needed air now!

It didn't help that his vision was fading.

Or that he was in the deep end.

His ten feet deep, deep end.

…How much did he weigh? It was like he was rocks. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten those five or six hamburgers a day…

He could feel his body slow down, the light above him dimming more and more as more water filled his lungs. He could still faintly here the sound of England's voice far above him, it sounded…worried? He couldn't tell. A feeling of regret filled him. If he knew this was going to be it he would have kissed England senseless, called off the pool party, better yet – never installed the pool. Far above a very distant sound –almost like a splash- echoed, yet as quick as it came it vanished.

Pools of memories filled in instead, times of the Cold War, 2010, Great Depression, WW2. Even images from the Independence War filtered through. Everything that he saw, touched, tasted, was rushing through his mind until resting on one single image. It was like a digital photo, stilled and very detailed, and it was beautiful. Back during the Colonial times, when England was his big brother.

_It was evening, England had decided to take America on a picnic, letting little America choose the location. _

"_Right here!" He announced, the child looked back at his mentor with a bright grin and shining eyes – obviously looking for praise._

_That spot he picked was underneath the shade of a large Oak, on top of a lush green hill that overlooked a small lake. All around was only the forest, the town they came from having not used its lumber yet. _

"_It's beautiful," England murmured, his breath taken away. He looked down at the giggling child, "You've out down yourself love." Walking over with the basket, he sat down on the grass and started taking the food out. _

_After eating dinner (if you could call it that), America decided to go swimming while England supervised. Afterwards, when Alfred got tired, he hoped out and ran over to England (who was sitting rather comfortably against the trunk) plopping in his lap. _

"_Blimey! America you're soaked!" Admitting a (dignified and manly) squeak, England stared down at the dripping culprit who happen to be looking..at him…with those bloody puppy eyes._

"_I'm sorry," His lower lip was trembling, as those puppy eyes threatened to spill unshed tears, "I just was cold and I wanted to sit with you." _

_Sometimes Arthur wondered if the kid did this purposefully._

"_It's alright." He wrapped his arms around the child's waist pulling him close, true to word the kid was cold. As the sunset was at its peak, a tiny, unsure voice broke the silence._

"_Arthur?"_

"_Hm, yes love?" He tightened his hold around the boy a little more, rubbing his shoulder in effort to make him warm. _

"_Will always be together right?" Curious, scared azure eyes looked up at his emerald ones, "Because I like being with you and it would make me really sad if we were apart and I-" Alfred was quickly stopped when he felt his body being turned around._

_Before he knew it, England was hugging him before kissing the top of his head, muttering words like 'love' and 'never' and 'it's okay'. _

"_I'll make sure we never separate, I love being around you too." His smile was big and bright, eyes were gleaming beautifully with emerald and hints of yellow shined within, his hair's outline was lit by the sun creating a halo that only angels seemed to have. _

'_He looks just like an angel, my guardian angel.'_

And then everything turned black.

* * *

…**who drowned in a pool.**


	2. B is For

**Florida: I'm baaaack~! So I know I've been gone and that I made a couple of promises of closing down a couple of my stories. But I decided to continue this. I read a couple of the reviews you guys sent me, and it inspired me to continue - so I want to give a BIG shout-out to SoulEaterRomaceFan and the rest of you all who's been so nice. [btw: I love getting long reviews - so don't worry about it, I do the same thing with a lot of other stories and artworks ;)] **

**America: You killed me. **

**Florida: This isn't about you, now is it?**

**America: You are so grounded when I'm alive again. **

**Florida: ...ngh...not fair. Can you at least do the disclaimer for me? Pwease Daddy~**

**America: Okay, *smiles* just this onc-**

**Belarus: Hetalia is not owned by Florida nor is the song Gory Demise. **

**America: HEY!**

**Florida: Enjoy! ^^;**

* * *

_**B is for Belarus...**_

* * *

The funeral took too slow.

Belarus hovered by the four-foot deep hole, surrounded by a sea of black and a symphony of cries, her veil hiding her frown. People she never knew (nor will she ever see again if she could help it) crept up, tears swimming in their eyes, throwing roses, tulips and even the occasional sunflower into the grave. Then, like rats, they would scurry back into the black sea and their voices would join the percussion of sobs. Together, united, the mass of black would sway, pray together, sharing fond memories of the one deceased.

In reality, Belarus knew that these people were happy. Every so often she would catch that yellow eye whose lips, in the tiniest of twitches, would curve into a grin, waiting impatiently for the Preacher to finish and the dirt to pile so that they can collect their dues of the will. Then the vultures would swoop in, preying near to the more entitled receiver and hoping that, per chance, they will throw a scrap or morsel at them too. Belarus's frown deepened, her eyes glared in disgust. Almost everyone wore their masks perfectly, even the preacher, making the funeral feel artificial and stale on her tongue.

Natalya didn't go up to drop a flower; she didn't blend with the sea of black or moan at a man she never knew. She stood under the grey sky and above the cold grass, trying to imagine what Alfred's funeral would be like.

Everyone expected to see his house, per always, light up with lights, fireworks and covered with the smell of abundant grilled barbeque and burgers. There would be music, Belarus would get to slow dance with Russia, France would be wearing his rose, molesting anyone (but her brother) who happened to come by, Italy would be splashing in the shallow end with Germany, and England, if he came at all, would drink himself into oblivion as America partied and celebrated obnoxiously, as he always does. This was the norm, it would never change.

But the house wasn't covered in lights or fireworks or the nauseas fumes of grilled burger, instead they were swallowed in the dumb sirens of the paramedics and the choked sobs of Arthur. By then, Alfred was already pronounced dead, it was officially declared that he drowned in the pool.

No one could believe it, even Natalya. It wasn't as if nations hadn't died before, but for one in their prime to die of a human natural cause – _that_ was unheard of. And the country itself, the landmass that Alfred represented, remained unscathed. There was no flood, no earthquake, nothing at all which made everything more peculiar, scarier. Belarus shook those thoughts out of her head; she wasn't scared; she was strong.

It was the idiot's fault anyways for drowning in his own pool.

She watched as the black sea parted and stayed until she was the last one left. She never really understood death. How he came and went, whom he choose to take next. She always thought it was such an inconvenience for everyone. Was it too hard for him to give the dying a sign, tell them in a dream, anything to prepare them for it? At least it would be expected, that always makes it easier.

Suddenly lightening struck out and within two seconds a loud clap of thunder boomed after it.

It was time for Natalya to depart. But as she turned to leave, she chanced one last look at the open grave...and saw a man she had never noticed before. And she would have noticed him too! Unlike the previous black sea, he was a white island; his suit light sand and his hat a small mountain with a blue feather on top. He was looking at the grave, a relaxed smile wormed its way up, and she was too far away to tell if it met his eyes. Then, as sudden as lightening itself, his grey eyes fell on her.

For the first time in her life, Natalya felt a shiver crawl down her spine and a fear for her soul. Yet she didn't move, too captivated by his eyes. That's when she felt it.

She didn't know who moved first or what, but she knew she was running away. Trees and tombstones blurred past her, lightening flashed above her, and then plobs and blobs of rain poured onto her. But Natalya kept running, sprinting under trees and leaping over graves, anything to get away from the man and back home to her dear brother. Her right hand wrapped around one her daggers as she felt his burning gaze on her back.

She ignored the tendrils of fear and panic, instead she tried hard to navigate through the thick rain –she was sure there was an exist gate nearby; all she had to do was outrun him. But the longer she ran, the closer she felt him get, his grey eyes never leaving her back. So as she leaped over another tombstone, she half turned and blindly flew her dagger where she thought the man was. She landed gracefully on her feet, eyes glued to the general grey area she threw her weapon; the burning was gone. That man didn't know what she was messing with.

Natalya was sure that if she just kept walking straight on she would hit the parking lot and find her white Lada, then she could return to Big Brother and he would comfort her. She smiled, of course he would embrace her and then, as he warmed her and reassured her all was fine, he would propose his undying love for her and they would get married! Married, Married, Marrie- what was that?

Natalya was sure she heard a snap, like a twig breaking, but the rain made it hard to tell. She glanced over her shoulder one more time to be clear, but she could see nothing. She really should be getting home-

And she walked right into the fire.

The man's grey eyes burned into hers, his claws caught her arms and before she could pitch out a scream or kick, he tossed her to the side and into a pit. A blooming pain erupted in her back skull and the world tilted, her body refused to move or function and she could only helplessly glare up at the man.

Lightening erupted illuminated the sky.

His face had all but fallen off. His cracked jawbone shimmered under the light. She could see globs of flesh drip off his skull like water; his nose was only two holes while one ear was crawling with maggots. His hands were only bone. The white suit was mangled, the sleeves ripped off and the chest torn to pieces, she could see the bone rub underneath. His hat wrapped around the bony skull, the feather all but withered, his hair all but fallen out.

And he was looking down at her with that same relaxed smile wormed on his face, just as he had done before, but this time she could see the hunger burning in his grey eyes. A scream rippled through her throat.

As sudden as lightening, he pounced and her screaming was lost to the rain.

* * *

_**...Who was eaten by Ghoul(s).**_

* * *

**So for all those who knew that this was going to be Belarus (because it totally wasn't obvious...pfft) I give you a box of cookies. Next time, the winner who guesses the correct nation first gets to have America for a day! **

**So who do you think C is for? **


End file.
